


Count the Ways

by WinterTheWriter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU where fuck the finale, Anal Sex, Desperation, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor with the angst in true Dean fashion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Orgasm Delay, PWP, Teasing, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, but early days, slight d/s themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29080824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/pseuds/WinterTheWriter
Summary: Dean can't accept that Cas actually loves him like that. So Cas convinces him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 140





	Count the Ways

**Author's Note:**

> fuck the finale Destiel deserved better thank you

Getting Cas back was easy when Jack finally held the reins. A little abracadabra mumbo-jumbo set everything back to the way it was, brought everyone back from the Empty. Why would Cas be any different? Oh, that moment when that ridiculous, stupid, gorgeous son-of-a-bitch poofed his ass back into the bunker for the first time, confused and grateful and wary all at once — man. That moment was everything. 

Hell, that moment made almost everything else easy too. Certainly made those three big words easier to say, even though Dean had to mumble them into his beer the first time. Cas had turned his head, face impassive but his eyes, boring into Dean’s, held so, so much hope, and he quietly asked him to repeat himself. Dean sighed and thudded his bottle onto the table before reaching across for the hand that rests there. “Said I love you too, man. Not like a brother, not like family, but like you’re it, Cas. You’re it for me.” It’s funny what loss can give you the balls to do. 

In his haste to kiss him, Cas knocked Dean’s beer onto the floor as he climbed across the table, hands fisted in his flannel, and Dean found he didn’t much mind that at all. The passion of angels is truly something to behold. 

So that was easy. All that was easy. Taking Cas to bed for the first time, taking him apart, taking /him/ — easy, easy, easy. 

But this? This ain’t easy. Accepting this ain’t easy, or natural, or /right/. 

“I just don’t get it, Cas,” Dean mutters, gruff and low in the dim light of his bedroom. Cas had done that thing again, where he smiles all soft and adoring until Dean’s chest hurts, and told him things people just don’t say to him. And Dean can’t accept it. “You’re a friggin’ angel, especially since Jack gave you your grace back. Why in the /Hell/ — no pun intended — are you so damn into /me/?” 

Cas, sitting next to him on the small bed, presses a large, warm hand between Dean’s shoulder blades and kisses his cheek — soft and sweet. Shouldn’t warm Dean as much as it does, shouldn’t make him sway towards him like it does. But it does. “I’ve told you my reasons, Dean,” he murmurs. Dean snorts with a small shake of his head. 

“Baby, you thought you were going to /die/.”

“Yes. And so why would I bother to lie to you?” 

Dean has no answer for that. He wishes he had a beer to excuse his silence. Maybe one day even more shit will get easy, the type of shit one has to talk about in relationships. Maybe one day Dean will be able to express how downright unlikeable he sees himself, how his self-loathing runs so deep that believing Cas loves him feels beyond impossible, feels like a joke. Cas seems to understand it all anyways. His thumb rubs a slow circle on his back and he leans in, ghosting his lips along the hard line of Dean’s jaw. Intimate and reverent. It’s so unexpectedly seductive Dean tenses up and has to swallow hard, mouth suddenly dry. 

“Let me show you, Dean,” Cas says, so very sure of himself. His other hand lands on Dean’s thigh, scorching even through the denim as he slides it up, slow and purposeful. “Let me explain.”   
And, well. Dean’s not saying no to /that/ any time soon. 

~

Their clothes vanish in record-speed without needing a lick of grace at all. Speaking of lick, Cas is currently taking it upon himself to taste every inch of Dean’s mouth, hungry and deep and /hot/. He’s pressing Dean into his mattress, kicking apart his thighs with a well-placed knee and grinding their hardening cocks together as Dean grunts and groans into the kiss. And Dean’s not exactly idle — no lover of his on the planet can call Dean Winchester a pillow princess. His hands rove down Cas’ back and grab two handfuls of angel ass, using the leverage to rub them harder against each other. He combs his fingers through the messy, slightly-greasy hair he can’t get enough of, scratching uneven nails against his scalp as Cas shudders and gasps. He’s not exactly sure what Cas has planned but if it involves more of /this/, he’s definitely game. 

And then Cas pulls back. Dean chases his mouth and growls when he misses, craning up from the bed as much as he can with Cas’ weight bearing down on him. Even his hips have stopped moving. “Cas, angel, baby, come /on/,” Dean groans, heels hooking around Cas’ calves as he runs his hands down that toned, smooth chest. He’s so hard it hurts and he can see Cas isn’t doing much better. 

Cas just smiles down at him, as beatific as it is breathless, love writ plainly in every line on his face. “I love you for your strength, Dean Winchester,” he murmurs, moving to press a slow trail of wet, hot kisses down the length of his neck. Dean huffs out a breath and drops his head back onto the pillow, closing his eyes at the electricity sparking down his spine at each one. 

“Cas—,”

“Hush. I’m /explaining/.” Grace suddenly forces Dean’s arms above his head against the mattress which is, uh, /way/ hotter than Dean expected it to be. He will spend the rest of his life denying the sound he makes. Trying to move is futile. It should bring back memories of all the unpleasant times he’s been bound and trapped but he’s neither of those things, not with Cas. 

Cas skates his fingers down Dean’s sides and makes him shake before biting at his shoulder, sucking a new mark tantalizingly close to the scarred handprint on his arm. “You have gone through so much, my love. So many hurts, so much loss and betrayal and /agony/—,” he pauses to suck Dean’s nipple into his mouth, making Dean hiss through his teeth and arch towards him, “—and yet here you are. Here you are, still capable of compassion, of understanding. Of /love/. All those battles you’ve fought and you never let it turn you cold. You have no /idea/ how much strength that takes. I am so privileged to have your heart, Dean. And I’ve known I’ve had it, even before you told me, and I knew instantly I would die to keep it.” His other nipple gets the same treatment, tongue pressing in a slow circle on the sensitive bud until every protest over those words flies from Dean’s head. 

This is fucking /devious/. Bastard knows how to stop him talking, dammit. Dean tries to distract him by lifting his hips, rubbing the sticky head of his cock against Cas’ stomach, but Cas only hums and slides down further. It’s hard to watch with his arms stuck above him, all leverage in his upper body limited to what his abs can do, but if Dean were to see those blue eyes and soft lips traveling south on him he may end things a bit too soon. Closed it is. 

“I love you,” Cas mouths at the jut of his hipbone, “for your /conviction/. Those who call it stubbornness are blind to the virtue behind it — yourself included.” His tongue licks the V-line towards his crotch and Dean fucking /whines/ about it, right in the back of his throat like a horny teenager. “You hold onto your righteousness with everything you are. You fight for justice, for the betterment of the world, and you never waver on that. You never could. No army could recruit you — your biggest and only true war is against anything that hurts an innocent. Watching you fight, being by your side, /helping/ — it’s an honor, Dean. Such an honor.” 

“You used to work for G—/fuck/!” Dean shouts, eyes snapping open without really seeing at all as Cas swallows his cock down to the root. He hums around him until Dean’s toes curl, helplessly writhing beneath him as Dean tries to fuck that mouth for all its worth. With a lewd pop, Cas pulls off of him, tutting close enough to his cock that his lips brush the sensitive underside of it. The cold air on the dampened skin of it is bad enough to make him do something like a whimper. 

“I /said/ hush, Dean.” This is how he dies. Dean’s sure of it. He’s going to die of blue balls and a ridiculous amount of lust. He tries to flex his arms just in case the grace has weakened. It very much has not. Worth a try. 

Swallowing thickly, Dean nods and makes a show of relaxing against the mattress. If Cas wants to have his dirty way with him, Dean’s fine with that as long as it means he gets to come sometime in the next century. He’s trying not to focus too much on the words, but Cas sure is making that difficult. Means alongside the haze of lust and want clouding his mind is the ache in his chest, hurting the way massaging a spasming muscle hurts. It helps, fuck, but it /sucks/. For one fleeting moment, Dean wants to cry. 

Once Cas is content with Dean’s obedience, he smiles and slides his lips back over his cock, sucking in slow, deep pulls as he works his way down the shaft. Dean moans deep in his chest, feet planting on the mattress with bent knees as he fights the urge to buck into that burning heat. Cas never told him he couldn’t, but he feels the unspoken order regardless, feels compelled to listen all the same. This is about listening, after all. 

Two blunt fingers suddenly rub at his perineum, making him jolt and grunt out Cas’ name, before trailing back to press at the tight pucker of his hole. They pet there, soft and teasing. Dean hears the snick of his bottle of lube and then those fingers retreat. He almost wants to tell Cas screw the lube and shove right in but it’ll get him nowhere. Cas won’t hurt him. Asshole. 

Really an asshole, because despite touching him with two fingers it’s only one — lubed and slippery — that returns and pushes deep into him. Dean can’t resist grinding down on it with a bitten-off curse, eyes opening hazily as he gives into the urge to stretch his neck up and look down at him. Cas is already looking up to greet him, want and something like mirth in those blue eyes, lips stretching almost-white around the base of his cock. His cheeks flushed, hair even messier, just looking all-around /debauched/ like he’s the one getting his soul sucked out of his dick. It’s just not fucking fair. Dean moans and drops back, eyes fluttering shut as he pants and tries to regain /some/ semblance of self-control. 

The finger in him starts a slow rhythm he sorely hopes doesn’t last. It isn’t enough, even paired with the hot suction around his cock, but it’s so damn /good/ all the same. Cas thrusts it deeper with every push in, twisting and curling before he finally adds that second finger to the party. It’s a burning stretch Dean instantly wants more of but then the delicious heat around his cock lifts off. “/Dammit/, Cas,” he rasps, hips lifting of their own accord before pressing back down against those fingers. 

Cas kisses his thigh as acknowledgment without a hint of apology. Again, /asshole/. “I love you for every flaw you believe sullies who you are.” Shit, are they /still/ doing this? Dean groans with more frustration than lust (in theory) as he fucks himself on Cas’ thick fingers, still thrusting and scissoring inside of him. They curl suddenly, brushing his prostate, and he cries out and thrashes with it. He can feel precum bead at the head of his cock and slip slowly down it, and he sure as fuck feels that ironically-sinful tongue lapping it up. “They make you human, Dean. They are a testament to the lessons you’ve learned, the man you’ve grown to be. They are your battle scars. They are /beautiful/, and they could never change the way I see you for the worse.” 

It’s not fair, it’s not /fair/. This is something that would never be said without an argument from Dean, except he /can’t/ right now because he’s too busy being a desperate, wanton mess two seconds away from begging this stupid angel to shove his stupid angel dick up his ass. Again, he almost wants to cry, and this time tears prick behind his eyes before he stubbornly wills them away. Dean Winchester does not cry during sex, dammit. All his protests, everything he would usually say to try and prove Cas wrong — why does he /do/ that? — it’s all gone from his head. Everything but Cas is gone from his head. /Dammit/. 

“You believe your emotions make you weak. You believe strength can never be found in vulnerability, but /look at you/,” Cas murmurs hotly, voice pitched lower than usual with lust and raspier from having Dean’s cock down his throat. It’s the sexiest damn thing Dean’s ever heard, even as it breaks him apart. A dry sob bubbles from his chest as Cas pushes a third finger into him, curling against his prostate with the other two with effortless precision. Dean’s mind reminds him of the word /torture/. 

“I love you for all you are, Dean. Every inch of it. All that you hate, I hold so precious and dear.” As Cas speaks, he kisses his way back up Dean’s body, slow and sensual even as his fingers start to piston relentlessly inside of him. Needy, higher-than-they-should-be “ah’s” escape Dean’s lips with each one. He couldn’t stop if he tried at this point, his hands fisted on either side of his head. “You have given me so much. A family, a son. Hope. Redemption.” Cas punctuates each word with another kiss, lingering over his heart and trailing back up his neck. Dean forces his eyes open to see that face come back into view. “Dean, I have been many things over the eons, but it is only with you that I have become /human/.” 

Their foreheads press together; his fingers inside Dean still where they are. “I am helpless to do anything /but/ love you,” Cas murmurs into the hot space between their lips, “because you are /everything/ to me.” 

…Dean Winchester is crying during sex. Dammit. Once again, and forever, /dammit/. 

But seriously, how the hell could he help it after that? Shaking his head and steadfastly ignoring the tears that slip down his own cheeks, Dean just leans up and presses their lips together, kissing Cas with everything he has. “I love you so damn much, Castiel,” he breathes out into it, pecking Cas’ lips when he feels them curl into a smile against his own. “But seriously, dude, please — fucking /seriously/, get in me. Get in me /now/.” 

Enough with the emotional shit. This is already so much, so /much/, especially because Dean’s actually starting to really believe the guy. That’s almost too intense to bear. Luckily, Cas either agrees or at least gets the hint, because after chuckling into their kiss he's finally pulling his fingers free from Dean’s body and leaning back to smear lube onto his cock. Dean enjoys the view, really, but he’d like to do more than /watch/. His arms tug at the grace again and this time it gives, so he’s tangling his fingers into Cas’ hair and yanking him back down into another kiss. 

This one is biting and needy and /desperate/ because Dean’s so keyed up, emotionally and sexually, he actually thinks he might explode soon — and not in the good way. But Cas gives back as good as he’s getting, sucking Dean’s lips swollen and licking his tongue up against the roof of his own mouth, dirty and fucking /perfect/. Those large hands grip Dean’s hips and yank them down and up, sliding to the backs of his knees to make him spread nice and wide for him. 

When the hot, blunt head of Cas’ cock presses against his hole, Dean actually /mewls/, legs fighting in his grip with the urge to lock around his waist. “You want me to fuck you, Dean?” Cas grunts, losing some of that angelic composure as he starts the slow press /in/. It’ll never stop being endlessly hot to hear him curse, especially like this. Dean nods frantically, one hand scratching down Cas’ back as the other stays locked in his hair. “Say it. /Say it/.”

“Fuck me, Cas, come on,” he gasps out, rolling his hips to urge him deeper. “Please, I’m not above begging for it, I fucking /need/ it, baby, just — ah, /fuck/!” Dean shouts out and slams his head back against the pillow as Cas suddenly pushes in to the /hilt/, grinding slow and dirty against every good spot as he does. It burns in the best of ways, lighting him up inside. Cas buries his face into Dean’s neck with a shaky exhale as he pulls out again slowly before thrusting in again, rough and needy. 

The teasing seems to be over. Thank /fuck/. The rhythm Cas starts up is sudden and relentless, harsh pushes and pulls that force sound after embarrassing sound out of Dean’s throat. This really isn’t going to last long, not after everything, but Cas seems to be on the same page in that regard at least. He moans into Dean’s neck, sucking and biting at the skin as he fucks him, his nails biting into the backs of Dean’s thighs. 

“Yeah, ah — fuck, baby, /yeah/, fuck in me like that,” Dean babbles, arching and scratching at him like a man possessed. He does get his legs free and they instantly take their place around Cas’ waist, holding on /tight/ as he lifts his hips as much as he’s able. Cas grunts out his name, grips his hips tight enough to bruise — fuck, Dean /hopes/ — as he moves in him. A shift of his angle and he’s suddenly right /there/, cock pounding against his prostate and sending sparks flashing behind Dean’s closed eyelids. He cries out until he’s hoarse with it and then cries out some more, nails digging grooves down Cas’ back. 

“Are you close?” Cas pants, hot breath against his ear making him shudder. “Are you close for me, Dean?” They’ve only had sex a handful of times so far but Cas is already an expert at saying exactly the right thing, pushing every single button he has. And clearly, he’s showing that off tonight, pulling all the stops. His hips do a swivel that’s downright fucking /filthy/, grinding against his prostate and forcing another sob of sound from him. “You want to come on my cock like this?” 

Dean nods frantically, past all composure, all hope of control as he bucks up under him. “Yeah, /yes/, Cas — ah, right — fuckin’ — /there/, yes, /fuck—,”   
“Then tell me I love you, Dean.” Cas’ hand suddenly wraps around the base of Dean’s cock, pressing pause on the mind-blowing orgasm knotting in his balls, in his gut. Dean whines his name out between heaving breaths, trying to force his mind to work. 

“I lo—I love you, Cas, baby, I /love/—,”

“That’s not what I said.” He has the audacity to slow his hips but he keeps his aim true, driving Dean so far out of his mind he’s distantly surprised to not be in the fucking shadow realm. “I /know/ you love me. I need to know you know I love you too. /Say I love you/.” That growl of a tone leaves no room for argument, especially not with the maddening grip on his cock. 

Dean sobs again for more than one reason. Another tear leaks down his cheek and Cas, without missing a beat, licks it up. Kinky bastard of an angel. 

“Dammit, you—,” Cas squeezes his cock before Dean can finish. Point made. “—…You love —, fuck, you /love/ me, you love me, you really—,” 

Finally taking mercy on him, that grip turns into a fast, chafing stroke as Cas starts fucking him again, every movement timed and aimed perfectly to make him lose it, and lose it he absolutely does. Dean seizes up and arches under him, screaming Cas’ name until his damn voice breaks as he comes so hard some of it hits his chin. He clenches down on the cock in him with each pulsing wave and he’s distantly aware of Cas groaning out his name right back and stuttering in his rhythm as he spills into him. 

When the fog clears and Dean’s come back down to earth, Cas is a sweaty, panting heap atop him, cock twitching through aftershocks inside his body. Dean wraps his arms around him properly, lets his exhausted legs fall from around his waist as he works on catching his breath. He presses kisses to Cas’ head because he can’t really help it, so damn in love with the angel it hurts and so, so fucking glad he’s done fighting it. “Hell of a way to teach me a lesson,” Dean murmurs, voice cracking from overuse. Gonna be fun getting teased by Sam for that tomorrow. 

Cas only chuckles, reverberating pleasantly against Dean’s neck, and he pulls out of him only so he can snuggle up properly. His angel likes to cuddle after sex. Dean is okay with that, as it turns out. He’s okay with every single damn bit of it. “Yes, well — I did what must be done.” 

“Well, feel free to do what must be done as many times as you need.”

“Oh, trust me, Dean.” Cas kisses the base of his neck and then lifts his head to look down at him, all adoring and open and smiling so damn soft. “I have a /long/ list of lessons for you.” 

And Dean, well. Dean thinks he might just be willing to learn.


End file.
